Crookedstar’s Promise

Chapter 6

Gentle rain began to fall as Crookedkit followed the grassy path away from the camp. The river glittered beside him. I cross the river and head upstream to the moors. Then I—He frowned, trying to remember the rest of Brambleberry’s words. His paws pricked nervously. First, cross the river. He couldn’t swim yet, which left him just one option.

The stepping-stones.

He felt sick as he remembered his fall: smashing his face against the rock, the pain, the swirling current. Then he remembered the orange-and-white cat’s amber gaze burning through the green water. He had to make it to the Moonstone and talk to her. He had to find out if everything that had happened since the accident—Hailstar changing his name, being left in the nursery on his own—was part of his great destiny. How could it be? Nothing had been great. Everything had been terrible. But, if it was part of his destiny, he would bear it. He could bear anything to be truly great.

Pushing through the bushes, he slithered down the bank onto the muddy shore. The river was shallow and sluggish, lightly dappled by raindrops. It looked harmless now, lapping at the stones, but Crookedkit knew its power. It had washed away his Clan’s home. It had nearly killed him.

Ahead, the stepping-stones shone, wet with rain. An owl shrieked in the trees beyond Sunningrocks. Crookedkit sniffed the air, searching for fresh ThunderClan scent, but smelled only his Clanmates. Timberfur had passed this way recently, leading the dusk patrol home. Fallowtail must have been with him; the tang of her paw steps was still fresh on the grass.

Crookedkit paused. Very fresh. Was she still here? Ducking, he scanned the shore and hoped his pale brown tabby pelt wouldn’t show in the dark; but he could not hide his scent, especially now that it was tinged with fear. Ears stretched, he listened, but heard nothing beyond the river’s murmuring and the soft patter of rain on leaves. Crookedkit took a deep breath and made a dash for the stepping-stones. Tensing, he leaped and landed, sure-pawed, on the first stone. The river flowed dizzyingly around him as he jumped to the next. He was definitely bigger than the last time he’d tried to cross the river. His paws gripped the stones more firmly, and they didn’t seem so far apart. He focused his gaze on the far shore and crossed the rest of the stones without hesitating, landing on the other side with a sigh of relief.

Sunningrocks rose into the dark, drizzly sky. Clouds hid the moon and Crookedkit had to squint to see his paws on the sandy shore beneath him. His hackles lifted as he smelled ThunderClan scent drifting down from the new borderline. Was Hailstar ever going to fight for this land?

Flexing his claws, Crookedkit headed upstream. He followed the shore, slinking into the bushes as he passed the RiverClan camp on the other side of the river. The path began to climb steadily. He was deep in ThunderClan territory now. Scent marked every bush, and he closed his mouth so the foul stench didn’t touch his tongue. His ears twitched. Beyond the soft gurgling of the river, he heard water thundering. He must be nearing the falls where Brambleberry collected coltsfoot. Crookedkit sniffed, tasting the zest of it in the air and the stone tang of splashing water beyond.

The path grew steeper, climbing beside the river, the shore now a rising cliff that grew higher and higher with every paw step. Crookedkit peered over the edge. Far below him, the river rushed past, swirling in the moonlight through a deep rocky channel. The thundering water grew louder, echoing from the rock and, as Crookedkit rounded a corner, he saw the falls for the first time. Higher than any tree, throwing droplets up toward the moon, the river plunged straight down where the land fell away, hurtling into the deep gorge.

Crookedkit stiffened, suddenly aware of how narrow the path had grown. Sheer rock rose on one side and plummeted down on the other. He flinched away from the precipice, grazing his pelt on the cliff face, and flattened his ears against the roar of water as he pressed on. The graveled path scratched his paws and wind whipped rain across his muzzle. It smelled peaty and rich with the scent of pollen.

As he reached the top of the falls, the roar of water faded. The path flattened and the river flowed smoothly once more, brimming to the shore. Crookedkit gazed across the swath of land that stretched out beside him. It rose toward the moors and beyond that he could see distant cliffs. Highstones? He’d heard warriors and elders talk about the jagged rocky peaks, and he knew that was where the Moonstone lay.

A new scent hit his nose. ThunderClan markers had been replaced by a different stench. A new smell. This must be WindClan territory. Then I cross WindClan’s moor. Brambleberry’s words rushed back to him. His heart quickened as he turned his paws away from the river and headed upslope into the moorland. The soft bushes gave way to prickly heather and gorse. Crookedkit weaved among their stems, thankful for the cover. Ears pricked and mouth open, alert for WindClan patrols, he padded on.

A familiar scent stopped him in his tracks.

RiverClan?

He sniffed again, unable to put a cat’s name to the scent through the strong smell of heather. But it was definitely RiverClan. Had Hailstar sent a patrol to find him? That seemed unlikely. He’d been alone in the nursery. Who would even know he was missing yet? He frowned and kept going.

At the top of the slope, a small pile of rocks jutted from the heather. Crookedkit scrambled onto the lowest rock and looked at the stones above him. If he could get higher he might be able to see Highstones. He glanced up at the sky, wishing the clouds would clear. He wanted to see Silverpelt and know that StarClan was near. Rain spattered his nose. Screwing up his eyes, he reached up the rock, feeling for cracks to curl his claws into. Finding one, he hauled himself up and scrabbled onto the next boulder. He was above the heather now. It stretched out ahead of him, and in the distant darkness he could just make out the jagged shape of Highstones.

A warm wind tugged his wet pelt. He tasted the air. The RiverClan scent hit his tongue again, clearer now. He could recognize it now.

Fallowtail!

A mew sounded on the breeze. Crookedkit scrabbled up onto the summit of the outcrop and crouched at the top.

“Did you hear something?”

A deep mew sounded below. Clinging to the wet stone with outstretched claws, Crookedkit crept forward and peered over the edge. Two pelts gleamed in the heather below. Crookedkit gasped. Grit showered from beneath his claws.

Fallowtail’s light brown pelt glowed in the half-light. A tabby tom stood with her. Crookedkit shot backward and pressed his belly against the rock.

“Is someone up there?” Fallowtail’s mew sounded frightened.

“I’ll look,” the tom growled.

Crookedkit froze. The stench wafting up alongside Fallowtail’s fear-scent smelled like the markers he’d passed at the border. WindClan! As claws scraped rock, Crookedkit slithered tail-first over the edge of the boulder. He landed clumsily on the ledge below and pressed himself into the shadow, thankful he was small enough to hide in the shallow crevice where the boulders met. Drawing his tail close, he waited, trembling.

“I can’t see anything,” a voice called above him.

“Let me look.”

Crookedkit heard another pelt brush stone.

“I can smell RiverClan!” Fallowtail gasped.

“But no one’s here,” the tom soothed. “There’s nowhere for a warrior to hide.”

“I smell RiverClan!” Fallowtail’s breathing quickened. “Some cat must have followed me. Let’s go.”

Crookedkit pressed himself harder into the crack as Fallowtail and the other cat slid down past him. Paws damp with fear, he stared from his hiding place as the warriors slipped into the heather and bounded away across the moor. When his breathing had slowed, he crept out of the crevice and slithered down the rock. He padded around the outcrop, skirting the trail of mixed WindClan and RiverClan scent, and pressed on toward Highstones.

His mind whirled as he followed a track through the gorse, ears pricked and pelt bristling. What was Fallowtail doing here? Had Hailstar sent her on a secret mission? But why was she with a WindClan tom? Was he helping her? Why would any warrior betray his Clan like that?

The rain eased and the clouds drifted away until the moon was a claw-scratch of silver against a crow-black sky. Crookedkit crested a short, steep rise that stood like an island in the vast sea of heather. Highstones towered in the distance, more sharply etched against the sky but no closer than they had been before. Crookedkit gazed in dismay at the wide space between the moorland and the Moonstone. It was broken by hedges and stretches of meadow and dark shapes he guessed must be Twoleg nests.

How would he ever travel that far? His belly growled. If only he knew how to hunt! It couldn’t be that hard. Echomist was always complaining about kittypets hunting on the edges of their territory. If a kittypet could do it, then so could he. And imagine Rainflower’s face when he told her he’d traveled to the Moonstone and back! He tasted the air, hoping to scent prey, but smelled nothing more than heather and WindClan stink. Sighing, he padded down the rise. At least the edge of the moor was close. He could see where it tipped down toward the meadows beyond. He’d be out of WindClan territory by moonhigh.

Bushes rustled behind him. Crookedkit whipped around and glimpsed a pair of eyes flashing in the heather.

StarClan, help me!

Heart lurching, he ran. His claws sprayed peat as he hurtled through a swath of gorse. The sharp twigs snagged his pelt but he hardly felt the pain. Paws thrummed the ground behind him. Crookedkit didn’t dare look back as he skidded over the crest at the edge of the moor and raced down the slope toward the meadowland.

The paw steps were gaining on him, thumping closer. Crookedkit charged through a wall of WindClan stench. The border! The markers were so strong it had to be the edge of WindClan territory. Their warriors wouldn’t chase him here, surely? But the paws kept coming.

Crookedkit pelted to the bottom of the hill. His chest screamed; blood roared in his ears. Ahead, a smooth river of stone sliced through the land where it flattened out. A hedge loomed beyond. Perhaps he could find somewhere to hide there. If I make it. The paw steps were a frog-length behind now. He could hear snorting and feel the earth tremble. Eyes wide, he glanced back and saw a rabbit charging after him.

A rabbit!

Astounded, he stumbled to a halt. The rabbit charged past him, its eyes gleaming with panic. Crookedkit glanced back up the slope. His breath stopped. Four WindClan warriors lined the crest of the hill, their eyes shining in the moonlight. Were they watching the rabbit? Or him?

A growl made him turn. Two giant eyes lit the stone path. A monster was storming straight toward him! He’d heard nursery stories about monsters. It was even more terrifying than Echomist—eyes wide, pelt bristling—had described. Huge, sharp-edged creatures with hard shiny pelts and yellow beams shooting from their eyes. Their round black paws smelled of burning stone, and the air shuddered with noise even before they appeared. But monsters were stupid, clinging to the Thunderpath as if they were afraid of venturing on to soft grass or into trees. A cat could outwit them by holding his or her nerve and getting out of the way.

Crookedkit backed away from the Thunderpath as the monster screamed by. Wind howled as it passed and its stench bathed his pelt. Fur on end, heart bursting, Crookedkit clung to the earth.

And then it was gone.

Thank StarClan, it didn’t see me!

Crookedkit opened his eyes. The rabbit lay in front of him, flat, on the hard black stone. Blood pooled around from its mouth and Crookedkit shivered. The monster had killed it without even slowing down to take a bite or snap its neck. He looked back up the slope. The warriors had gone.

His breath shallow, Crookedkit padded shakily across the Thunderpath. He paused beside the rabbit, wondering whether to drag it to the grass at the edge. It was, after all, fresh-kill now. But its dead, open eyes made him shudder and he hurried past it and dodged into the safety of the hedge on the far side. Trembling, he crouched down and let his terror slowly ebb away.

Highstones was ahead of him, still distant beyond rolling fields. Crookedkit straightened up and followed the hedgerow. Keeping to the edges of the open meadows, where he couldn’t be seen by any passing foxes or badgers, he pushed on, his belly growling and jaw aching. The moon climbed over Highstones and slid down behind them. Crookedkit paused. The stars were disappearing as the edges of the sky began to turn pale. He wasn’t going to make it to Highstones before dawn. He wasn’t even close.

Ahead, a stone wall marked the edge of another meadow. Crookedkit squeezed through a hole where the stones had collapsed. A huge nest rose ahead of him, four-sided with strips of black wood covering the walls and a curved roof. Its entrance was blocked by a smooth slab of paler wood, but a tiny hole next to it showed darkness inside, warm and sweet-smelling. It might be a safe place to rest. Crookedkit tasted the air and inhaled the scent of dry grass. More tired than he’d ever been in his life, he padded up to the small opening. He could just make out piles of dried stalks stacked high in the giant space inside the nest. There was no sign of life, no warrior scent. Paws heavy as stones, Crookedkit slithered inside and found a dark corner. Too weary to figure out where he was, he curled into a ball, tucked his nose under his paw, and gave in to sleep.